


How Can It Hurt?

by likethenight



Series: Hero Worship [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24911083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethenight/pseuds/likethenight
Summary: Legolas cannot understand the concept of grief.
Relationships: Legolas Greenleaf & Pippin Took
Series: Hero Worship [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802575
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	How Can It Hurt?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long, long time before the _Hobbit_ movies canonised what happened to Legolas' mother; in the little 'verse in which this series exists, Gandalf is Legolas' first experience of the death of someone close to him, and this story was inspired by the song _How Can It Hurt?_ by Marillion, whose refrain goes 'how can it hurt, when I don't understand?'
> 
> This is one of the first fics I wrote in the Lord of the Rings fandom, way back in early 2002. Somehow I never quite got around to posting them here when I was collecting all my fics, but now that I'm back in the fandom and settling in, I thought it was probably time to start posting.
> 
> This is one of an interconnected series of short one-shots exploring the friendship between Pippin and Legolas, hinted at in the films but never really developed. I never did finish it the first time round, but I have plenty of notes and ideas and snippets, so who knows, maybe this time I'll get it done!

We stumble out of the blackness of Moria, blinking in the unexpected daylight on the barren mountainside. We scatter, each of us suddenly alone with the terrible knowledge that Gandalf has fallen. I stare around me, uncomprehending. Death is simply not something that happens to me and mine.

How can it hurt, when I don't understand? I cannot understand the concept of grief, I have no experience of death against which to measure it, but there is a terrible, rending pain in my heart that is cutting me to my soul. 

"Get them up!" Aragorn's voice is harsh enough to cut through the numb incomprehension clouding my mind. I hear Boromir protesting, Aragorn replying, but I pay them no heed, automatically obeying my old friend. I walk over to where Merry sits, Pippin sobbing in his lap. Merry, ever the protector, is stroking Pippin's curls, trying to comfort his small cousin, but he cannot stop his own tears. I kneel beside them, place a hand on Merry's shoulder. 

"I am sorry, my friends. We must move on. The _yrch_ will be here soon and we must reach a place of safety."

Merry looks up at me, swallowing hard. "I'll be all right. But I don't know if Pip can..." he trails off, trying unsuccessfully to swallow a sob. I nod, and place my hand on Pippin's head.

"Pippin? Pippin, can you stand up for me?" He does not appear to hear me, he is crying so hard, and even Merry cannot get through to him. I pick him up, lifting him bodily out of Merry's lap and go to set him on his feet, but he flings his arms around my neck and holds on tight, great hiccuping sobs shaking his small body. I straighten up and stand there for a moment, holding him, stroking his back and waiting for the sobbing to ease. When it does, I set him down beside Merry, who has climbed to his feet while I was occupied with Pippin. Merry hugs his cousin, murmuring to him something about moving on, finding shelter, and Pippin visibly pulls himself together. They both look up at me, eyes drying now but still filled with sorrow, and I lay my hands on Pippin's left shoulder and Merry's right. "Well done, my friends," I tell them. "Soon we will come to Lothlórien, and we will be safe there." My voice sounds hollow to my ears, but the Hobbits do not seem to notice. After all that we have endured in the last few hours, a safe haven in the Golden Wood seems to me almost too much to ask.

We set off down the mountainside in stony silence, each of us confronting our grief in our own way. 

Later, in Lórien, the Galadhrim sing of Mithrandir, beautiful songs that cannot hope to do justice to his greatness, to the immense loss we have suffered. My companions want me to translate for them, but I cannot. For me, the grief is still too near. All I can do is stand, and listen, and wonder still at the pain in my heart.

The Hobbits mourn, it seems, by celebrating the life of the departed. They tell tales of Gandalf's visits to the Shire, and Sam recites a poem of his own devising. They even manage to laugh. I gain a new respect for these simple, complicated folk. Not so long ago they were inconsolable, yet now they find within themselves the strength to speak of our fallen leader with respect and gentle humour. I cannot see how they can do it, but it seems to be an effective way to cope, I think, for as I listen to them I find my heart is eased just a little by their reminiscences. I seat myself quietly a short distance from their circle and in concentrating on their tales I am able to distance myself a little from the pain that I still do not understand.

After a while, Pippin shuffles himself over and settles down next to me.

"Don't worry, Legolas," he says softly, patting my knee. "It gets easier to bear, with time."

I have to smile at the absurdity of it; Pippin, who is rather younger than he likes to make out, is far more experienced in this field than I, who have lived a hundred times as long. He speaks with such authority that I wonder at it for a moment, and it must show on my face, for he smiles a sad little smile and explains.

"We Hobbits are a healthy people, as a rule, but death is an everyday part of life for us. People get ill, they grow old, they have accidents. We've all lost people who were dear to us. Frodo's an orphan, did you know that?"

I didn't. I shake my head. Pippin shrugs and continues.

"It's something you get used to. Someone dies, and it hurts, and you miss them terribly. You cry, and you tell stories about them, and sometimes that makes you cry worse. But in the end, they may be gone, but you are still alive. So you live. That's what the crying and the stories are for. They help you get past the worst bit, and after that it slowly fades and turns into memories. It doesn't stop hurting, but it does get easier to bear."

I still don't understand, and I'm not sure that I believe him, but I'd like to. I really would.

"You'll see I'm right, in time," he says. "The first time is always the worst, but it does get easier. I promise." He scoots a little nearer and puts his arms around me in an impromptu hug. I am a little taken aback at first, for he has never behaved like this with me before, but then I remember that the Hobbits are very tactile with one another, and if one of them needs comforting the others are quick to hug him or to ruffle his hair or pat his back. Feeling obscurely comforted, I hug Pippin back, my throat suddenly tight at his selfless kindness. 

I rest my cheek on his soft curls for a moment while I collect myself. "Thank you, Pippin," I whisper.

He pulls back and smiles gently up at me. "You're welcome. We always look after our friends."

I am incredibly touched by his statement, and by his kind gesture, and somehow already I feel that my heart has lightened, just a little.


End file.
